What will happen with my Facebook account when I die?
Will Facebook inherit my photographs, friends, preferences, statuses, history and, ultimately, my life?
What will happen with my Facebook friends when I die? With what I left behind, in my haste? Will they die too? Or will they just keep being friends with me? The dead me.
Will my Facebook friends still like me online and post their love letters and say good bye and hello to me?
But me, when I die, will I get to keep my friends, the alive friends, and take them with me?
Will my friends be dead too or alive?
If they alive, me dead.


After student re-cycling show at sva…ha!

Treadmill brain jerked jolted jimmied – a face behind shop window plated platted glass hooplay sidestep her fingers spread lapidary luminous lap dancer – tender sprites quaint quintessence of quaternary circumnavigation tea time trollop tripping  p’s or q’s oopla pyramid pic n trix probiscus pipe pompour penis pah. Catastrophe of technology scream screen diamand jubilleee- predators pre-destined despots circling hungry flies on gore, jarred frogs in formaldehyde, phew  xray contusions – scatlogical incisions scissored liver cauterflied surgeons somniferous sambuccas screaming – probiscus pivoting away – up and over the triumphal arch – verdigris and valium – verrukhas in Valhalla valedictory vanquishment – hoe green the valley of the blue forgotten hill – rue rabid  rabbit run over the rubicon and afar.  Flatter no mess is deep enough to lose breach languish laboriously jettison curse of jehova, noa, Jerimiah – jackels prawn in hinterland –  I say I says aye bah bah boo blood – black opium stripes stagnant lochs of galore and incense myrrh and myra conjoined – copulating   crib – mulish mawkish mesopotamia – jerricho and soddom ouch calabash of clitorii and floppy floozy fourskins angels down whispered to putrid puddles of ire – iridescent fathoms deep drink  ink spots stargazers, geezers in trench coats stooped in puddles of jissom – holy holy buttons and breeze afloat and flung welcome anchorage astephan and castellated winds anally projected smooth sloped doing detritus and dewy cheeks half in half under sweet the pitch and flail all hail not tail of fire no mercy cry pipe pope pius pings Euphrates torched a jeroboam whiskey the arse calabash calaban supping dildo brow draped drastically damnation blotched nether hinder nor succour screemed stukka stitched in dream of nought  a bunny hop away wretched wrought rancour ruminating the pot oer’flowing – dribble dram reminder – heigh heaven portside only – after you ole mate – leeward thrust a cockney step – go lightly abyss or vernicular valium dinged disgust disguised . Major Jonks RME by right a bounder a bluff stoke to boschs’ mare breugels udders quoth a quaff of chagg phew in the gallow – a wifely wind vent to spleen- splendid labia wind sock gorgonzola ah brie ripening roller coaster leprachauns languishing mist over donegal and ne’er kiss an arse left behind – heave aboard  bard and buck up and away,,,,,

Occam’s Razor

We were never close.

Me inattentive to your whims,

You like an absent father-in-law.


Chased away by progress like a frightened rabbit,

You vacated the sky some time ago.

You now fill another gap, or, more likely, another dimension.

Where neither man,

                                        nor woman,

                                             nor falsifiability

                                                                  can reach.

You’ve been made redundant.



That’s too bad.

Good luck with your forthcoming job search.

Parable of the Unwise Haberdasher

Possibly offensive stuff. Sorry.

It was the day before the Sabbath and Jesus was in Jerusalem, where he had been attracting large gatherings. And someone in the crowd asked of him, ‘good teacher, tell us a parable that will help strengthen our faith and teach us to live a morally upstanding life.’
And Jesus replied, ‘my friends, I will do so. I will tell you the Parable of the Unwise Haberdasher.’ And Jesus comported himself with care and began to tell the parable.  

A haberdasher has a stroke of good fortune and finds three sheets of fine material.

The first he sells to a young man who wishes to make a smashing pair of cargo shorts.

The second piece he sells to a rich heiress who wants to make a jacket for her ridiculously small dog.

 The third piece he keeps for himself. After laying it flat on a work table in his establishment and smoothing out the creases with a hot iron, he climbs upon the table, lifts up his robes and takes an almighty dump directly onto the material. Having done this, he carefully pulls the corners together to form a kind of sling, and then starts dancing and swinging the material around his head whilst reciting a strange incantation about brown cherubs.

He does this for about two hours.

But he’s so immersed in what he’s doing (he’s ‘in the zone’, as it were), he accidentally lets go of one of the corners and the contents of the makeshift sling go flying everywhere and make an awful, awful mess.

He looks in dismay at what he’s done and thinks, ‘why have I done this? The other two bits of cloth I sold and made a tidy profit, but this cloth I defecated on and waved in the air like I just didn’t care. Now I have a ruined cloth and my own shit to clear up. Dear God, I have been most foolish in what I have done and I repent of my actions!’’

God then spoke to him from his throne in heaven and said ‘My forgiveness is always available for those who repent. You are thus forgiven, my son.’

Having finished the parable, Jesus looked at the crowd. ‘This man had lost sight of what he was good at: selling cloth to his consumers and making a tidy profit. He’d forgotten this simple fact and instead did something weird with his poo. That was a mistake. But in doing what he did, he had obtained something special. He had obtained full forgiveness from God. That prize is available for everyone gathered here today. For those who have ears, let them hear.’

On hearing the parable and absorbing its contents, one group present said that if this one particular man deposited his faecal matter on expensive material, and then worsening the situation by accidentally scattering said faecal matter during some bizarre dance ritual, but in doing so attained forgiveness from the Lord, then all people must do exactly the same thing if they are to attain forgiveness as well.

But another group thought it important not to take everything in the parable literally. It simply warned against recklessly attempting something outside one’s area of expertise that would likely result in sinning.  This is what the parable meant. What it did not mean was to go out and make some kind of workplace dirty protest in an effort to garner God’s forgiveness. That was just stupid.
In the end, the two groups could not agree on which interpretation was correct, so decided to have a war about it.
Thousands would die in a bloodbath over one man and his turds.

Philip Larkin

On the few occasions Larkin explained why he wrote poetry, he did so in the most humdrum, almost DIYish, terms. Speaking on the BBC Overseas Service in 1958, he put it as simply as this: “If I must account for it, I think it would be best described as the only possible reaction to a particular kind of experience, a feeling that you are the only one to have noticed something, something especially beautiful or sad or significant. Then there follows a sense of responsibility, responsibility for preserving this remarkable thing by means of a verbal device that will set off the same experience in other people, so that they too will feel How beautiful, how significant, how sad, and the experience will be preserved.”

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.